


I Warned You

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sherlock reluctantly does dishes while naked, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: John pounced. Where once Sherlock had been lounging insolently against the kitchen table, the lanky git was now angled over it backwards at what had to be a terribly uncomfortable angle. Sherlock didn’t mind, if the erection jabbing John in the thigh was any indication. “I warned you what would happen if you used my RAMC mug for your mould experiments again,” John growled against Sherlock’s collarbone. “Forget that?”AKA Sherlock gets a lesson in Not Pissing Off John Watson





	I Warned You

“I warned you.”

Sherlock completely failed to keep a not-repentant-at-all smirk off his face. “Warned me of what?” he retorted. “I must have deleted it.”

John pounced. Where once Sherlock had been lounging insolently against the kitchen table, the lanky git was now angled over it backwards at what had to be a terribly uncomfortable angle. Sherlock didn’t mind, if the erection jabbing John in the thigh was any indication. “I warned you what would happen if you used my RAMC mug for your mould experiments again,” John growled against Sherlock’s collarbone. “Forget that?”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wider. So he _had_ forgotten. Tough shit.

“Strip.” John forestalled Sherlock’s entirely predictable attempt to straighten up. “Right where you are, thank you.”

Luckily Sherlock wasn’t wearing much. His t-shirt flew off and his dressing gown slithered downward, pinned between his perfectly-shaped arse and the edge of the table. Worn flannel pyjama pants did little to hinder the imagination.

John shoved closer, leaving Sherlock awkwardly propping himself up on one arm and actually scooting the table back a few centimetres. He held Sherlock there, off-balance and aroused, until he was finally able to hook one of the kitchen chairs with his ankle and kick it toward the sink. The low plastic back fetched up against the counter with a muted _click._

“John?”

“The rest of it. Quickly.” John punctuated this with a little slap to Sherlock’s taut stomach, causing Sherlock to jump and then drop trou like they were on fire. “On your knees on the chair, facing the sink. You are going to wash _all_ the dishes to my satisfaction or else we are going to be here a very long time. Do you understand?”

A sharp intake of breath. “Yes, John,” Sherlock parroted. Then - wonder of wonders - he did as he was told.

There weren’t actually that many things to clean, since Mrs. Hudson had brought them up some breakfast that morning and inevitably did several dishes while in the flat, but it was the principle of the thing. John waited until Sherlock wasn’t holding anything breakable to deliver the first _smack._ Sherlock squeaked and froze.

“Continue,” John decreed.

Sherlock shakily picked up another plate and held it under the running water.

John varied both the severity and the timing of the spankings, purposely ignoring whenever Sherlock put a dish down and tensed up in anticipation. The sounds the detective made when taken by surprise were more than worth the wait. Slowly but surely, the pile of mugs and plates and silverware in the drying rack grew. When Sherlock at last got to John’s precious RAMC mug and balanced it carefully atop the pile, he let out a ragged sigh.

 _Oh, it’s not over yet._ John snatched up the mug, quickly filled it from the dish basin, and dumped the still-hot soapy water all over Sherlock’s reddened arse.

Sherlock nearly toppled head-first into the sink.

Fuck the mess. Sherlock - or, more likely, John - could mop that up later. The puddle on the floor was a small price to pay for Sherlock’s shocked expression, his sudden stillness… and his much-rejuvenated erection.

“Remorseful yet?” John purred. He straddled Sherlock’s calves and brought his still-clothed crotch to rub against Sherlock’s sensitive backside, already reddened from the spankings and warming further from the shock of the hot water.

Sherlock moaned and pushed back against him.

“I should leave you here like this, you know.” John groped for Sherlock’s cock and squeezed the base firmly, cutting off whatever ill-advised attempt Sherlock might have made to rut against the cupboards and staving off any chance of prematurely ending the lesson in Not Pissing Off John Waston. “Ought to make you stay here naked and aching, kneeling on a hard plastic chair with your beautiful arse all nice and convenient for me to take. Could make you wait until your hard-on has wilted, then surprise you with the riding crop and that big vibrating black thing you love to hate so much.” He leaned forward and bit gently at Sherlock’s shoulderblade. “How long do you think you could hold out if I did that, hmmm? Stuffed you over-full of buzzing black silicone and went at your arse and thighs until my arm got tired? Probably would need a cock ring - I couldn’t trust you not to come otherwise.”

“Please.” Sherlock dropped his head and all but melted into John’s body.

“Please yes?”

“Please - you. Want it to be you.”

“Mmmm.” John nipped at another circle of flesh, this time over the exposed nape of Sherlock’s neck. “You want me to fuck you like this, is what you’re saying. While your arse is still on fire and your knees hurt from holding your balance on this god-awful chair and I’m practically rubbing your nose in the fact that I forced you to do the dishes.”

“Oh, _yes._ ” Sherlock ground his arse shamelessly against the placket of John’s jeans, heedless of any discomfort. “John, I need you. Anything. Everything.”

“I see.” John ground right back. “And what makes you think you deserve that? I bet if I did any of those things, you’d come without permission right here over the sink. All over the chair and the cupboards, making yet another mess.”

“Nooooooo…”

“You’re lying, Sherlock Holmes.” John let more of his weight rest against Sherlock’s back, driving Sherlock’s ribcage into the corner of the counter and the back of the kitchen chair into his soft abdomen. Sherlock was nearly there just from the thought of humiliating himself, John knew. A few good tugs on his bare cock, along with a sharp twist of his left nipple…

Sherlock groaned like he was being ripped apart and came in several long bursts. John didn’t let go of either part of Sherlock’s anatomy until the man was completely wrung out and heaving for breath, then changed the tight pinch to a more soothing massage motion over his entire pectoral. Sherlock went boneless under John’s hands.

“Feel better now?” John asked quietly. Sherlock nodded. “Are you going to listen to me next time I tell you to leave my RAMC mug the hell alone?”

A shrug.

_Bastard._

“Next time,” John murmured in Sherlock’s ear, “I’m going to tie you spread-eagled underneath the table and make you _lick_ all your disgusting petri dishes clean. And then I am going to invite Mycroft over for tea and explain exactly why his little brother is blindfolded and arse-naked and rutting against the filthy floor like he thinks he deserves to come after all that. I will ensure you never, ever disobey me again. Do I make myself clear?”

Sherlock twisted in John’s arms until he was able to slide downward into his seat and press his head against John’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Let me make it up to you?” He punctuated the offer by sliding one elegant hand into the back pocket of John’s jeans and giving a gentle squeeze. “I notice you may still be in need of a sloppy, filthy blow job. And I happen to know you love fucking my face. I have a rather talented mouth, on occasion.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” John stood up and pulled Sherlock up with him. “As it so happens, that does sound like a skillset I could put to use…”


End file.
